Kodachrome
by Nienna Nir
Summary: A storage container with Steve's name on it turns up in the bowels of SHIELD and its contents reveal startling truths about the past as well as the future he's living now. Part of the Series: Coulson Lives, but the Avengers might be the death of him.
1. Development

**1. Development**

"What's all this?" Steve asked, a frown creasing his brow as Coulson shoved the battered plastic crate into his hands before moving past him toward the k-cup machine.

"Damned if I know," Phil shrugged, pulling a mug down from the cupboard. "Some junior agents found it down in storage. It's got your name on it."

"Um... Phil," Steve still wasn't that comfortable calling the Agent by his first name but Phil had insisted. Steve, Phil had pointed out, was technically a consultant, not an agent so formality wasn't necessarily appropriate. Steve really thought Phil just wanted someone other than Pepper to call him by his proper name.

"Problem?" Coulson asked, snapping the K-cup machine closed.

"This isn't my handwriting," Steve pointed out as he looked down at the tag on the crate. The tag was old, very old and appeared to have been pulled off another box and attached to this one with packing tape. "It's..." his voice trailed off and a queazy feeling rolled though his stomach.

"You all right, Cap?" there was genuine concern in the other man's face as Steve's eyes swung up to meet his. He drew in a shaky breath.

"I... I think it's Howard's," Steve knew it was Howard's and that fact alone rolled over him like a wave. The blocky, engineer's Copperplate stood out bold and sharp, so different from Peggy's firm precise italic script or Bucky's sloppy scrawl that he continually had to struggle to decipher. The realization that he couldn't tell Tony's handwriting from a complete stranger's even if their lives depended on it slammed into him like a truck. A brutal reminder of where he was now. He'd never once seen Natasha's or Bruce's handwriting. He wasn't even sure Clint knew that a pen wasn't a projectile. The fact that Thor probably couldn't even write in English made his knees shake slightly.

Moments like this had grown so rare that he'd begun to forget what they felt like. He had a smart phone for heaven's sake, Tony had even convinced him to follow the news on his STARK tablet. (He still wasn't giving up his Sunday copy of the New York Times, some things were sacred.) It was the tiny things now, the small things he'd almost forgotten in this brave new world and he drew in a shaky breath.

"Steve?" Phil's use of his first name snapped him back to the present like a rubber band. Phil almost always used 'Cap' or occasionally 'Rogers' in front of Fury but rarely called him Steve.

"I'm ok," Steve answered quickly, shaking off the sick feeling.

"If you wanted some help," Phil's words were unusually hesitant and Steve tore his eyes away from the crate to meet his gaze. "Going through your things, I don't mind putting off my reports for an hour or two."

"No," Steve shook his head. "It's ok, I think I'll just take this up to my room." He let out a sigh, heading for the door. He turned back, his brow furrowing.

"Thanks for this, Phil," he said, indicating the crate. Coulson nodded with a smile and Steve disappeared into the rec room, climbing the stairs to his suite. JARVIS unlocked his door for him and he shouldered it open, kicking it closed behind him and slumping against it with a sigh.

"Are you all right sir?" The AI asked. Steve drew in a slow breath, nodding. He crossed the room, dumping the crate on his breakfast bar and rummaging through his refrigerator. It was mostly empty and he closed his eyes a moment, letting the cold air wash over his face in what Bruce teasingly dubbed "attracting penguins" and Tony called his "right as an American". Steve let out a huff of air, grabbing a bottle of Coke.

He rolled the cold glass in his palm for a moment before twisting off the metal cap and taking a long pull, His mind slipping back to the glee he'd felt the first time he'd been able to open a soda bottle with his bare hands. The sodas in their futuristic plastic bottles tasted different now. They were sweetening them with corn syrup and really, what was with that? Corn syrup went in pie.

Except for the sodas in his fridge. He could remember mentioning it to Bruce one night while they'd made dinner together and the long convoluted explanation of the economics involved. What he'd taken away from it was that the twenty-first century was too much obsessed with quantity and too little committed to quality.

Two days later the glass bottled sodas had appeared in the fridge in his suite as if by magic. He wasn't stupid enough to wonder where they'd come from, even though he was 90% certain that Tony had been in the lab for the entire duration of his conversation with Bruce. And he definitely wasn't surprised to see the first ingredient listed on the side of the bottle was Refined Sugar.

They tasted almost exactly the way Steve remembered.

He let out a long, slow breath, turning back to the breakfast bar, Coke in hand. He pried the lid free, setting it aside and peering into the crate with a dubious expression.

There was a stack of notebook paper on the top and he snorted in amusement, pulling out the first one. It was a drawing of Howard's personal plane, the billionaire hanging out of its window as if he were a teenager on a Sunday drive. The plane was dragging a banner line and trussed at the end of the line, flapping in the breeze was a caricature of Hitler, a little bubble over his head declaring "Mine Goose Ist Cooked!" Steve smiled fondly, his eye drifting to his own signature in the corner and he remembered doodling the drawing in one of Howard's lab notebooks cooling his heels, waiting for medical to clear the Commandos after a mission. A day when he'd been particularly bored and Howard's lab had been particularly boring. The fact that Howard had torn it from the notebook and kept it made his chest hurt a little.

There were others; A pin-up girl leaning on his shield who bore a striking resemblance to Peggy, one of Bucky trying to stuff Captain America in a foot locker while simultaneously flirting with a pair of pretty girls with the caption: Haven't seen him around. One of a single rose, the paper's edges frayed and "Happy Birthday Peggy" scrawled in his best script. There was a hole near the top and he smiled sadly, remembering tacking it to the board beside her desk with the chocolate bar from his rations. At the time he'd lamented that it couldn't be something more, had even thought about talking Howard into a clandestine shopping trip to Switzerland. Howard would have done it too. Would have relished it. Steve could almost see the smug satisfaction on his face at the very notion, but Steve hadn't had the heart to ask. It would be too dangerous and though Steve wouldn't have minded the risk himself he would never be able to bring himself to risk Howard's life over a birthday present.

So Peggy had got a Hershey bar. And even though she still acted annoyed with him half the time she'd brushed a kiss on his cheek as if it were actually something worthwhile.

Beneath the notebook drawings was an envelope and he pried it open, dumping a stack of photos out on the counter. Familiar faces stared back at him. Bucky and Dum Dum trying to drink each other under the table, Gabe and Jacques hunched over a chess board, Howard ruffling Steve's hair. And Peggy, a clipboard in her hands, half facing away from the camera so that her lashes and the line of her perfect red lips stood out against the drab gray sky visible beyond the canvas walls of the tent.

Every single photo was in rich full color, so real and so true and so unbearably near that they made his breath hitch. And even though he knew he shouldn't he couldn't help but touch, just the barest caress of his fingertips against the paper.

He gathered them up carefully, sealing them back in the envelope with shaking hands. Color photos had been so rare in the forties he didn't need to wonder where these had come from. He didn't really want to, but he looked down into the box.

In the very bottom were a dozen or so three inch film reels without boxes or labels bearing only serial numbers, penned in Howard's familiar block print along each metal rim: CA04071907, CA12021982, CA21101989.

"JARVIS, um, I know this is an unusual question but I don't suppose there's an old reel to reel projector lurking around STARK tower somewhere, is there?" Steve asked hesitantly.

"There is not, Captain," JARVIS related. Steve sighed in disappointment. "There is, however, a film digitizer in Mr Stark's lab." Steve's face creased in a frown.

"I..." Steve gave a small laugh, his ears coloring slightly. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to use something like that, JARVIS." he admitted.

"I would be happy to assist you, Captain," JARVIS offered. "I'm confident sir would not mind your use of his lab in his absence... also, Dum-E could use the distraction."

"Tony being out of town a bit rough on the little guy?" Steve asked, holding back a smile. Tony had headed out to LA two days prior to deal with something that had gone wrong in R&D. Steve hadn't understood even half of what Tony had said before disappearing in a whirlwind of Armani and Stark tech.

"To put it mildly, sir," JARVIS sighed. "They all do seem to be rather fond of you."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Steve nodded, scooping up the now half empty crate and heading toward the door. "You sure Tony won't mind."

"If Mr. Stark was at all concerned with your access to his lab he would not have invited you to live here, much less allow you a passkey to his secured workroom."

"That's definitely a compliment," Steve raised his eyebrows as he boarded the lift.

"Yes sir," JARVIS confirmed. "It is."

* * *

The lab really wasn't too bad.

Steve looked over the workbench piled high with clutter and spare parts that drifted over the sides and across the floor. There were several plastic crates half open and half empty and something that looked suspiciously like parts of Phase 2 scattered over the counter that served as a makeshift kitchen. There was, however, no sign of empty pizza boxes or half smashed take out containers or cups of three day old stagnant coffee which was, in Steve's mind at least, a good sign.

It was also a clear signal that Tony had not been in his lab for quite some time and the bots had had more than ample opportunity to clean up after him.

Steve dropped his crate on the only bare corner of the workbench with a sigh.

"Hey, Dum-E," he smiled, petting the bot absently as if it were a dog, Dum-E's clicks and whistles calming tension he hadn't realized he was carrying.

"Yoo is quite adept at loading the machine, sir," Jarvis declared as both Yoo and Butterfingers swooped in on him as well, vying for attention. "If you'd like to give him the film reels."

"Be careful with these, ok?" Steve cautioned, handing the crate to Yoo with a chuckle as the bot sped across the lab. "How long will this take, JARVIS."

"I will need several minutes for Yoo to load the machine and then the duration of the film's play time in order to digitize it. Shall I notify you when the first one is completed?"

"Actually... if it's all right, I'll just hang out here and wait," Steve declared awkwardly, his cheeks coloring as Butterfingers clung to the hem of his t-shirt with a whine that sounded on the verge of needy. "I... they seem lonely."

"They do miss Mr. Stark when he's away, sir," JARVIS acknowledged.

"Would Tony... mind if I checked on them while he's gone?" Steve asked hesitantly. "I mean, if I'm breaching some sort of rule he has."

"I'm sure Mr. Stark would be grateful that you took an interest in their welfare, sir," JARVIS' tone held a hint of amusement and Steve settled on the floor, his back to the couch in the corner. He dug underneath it a moment pulling out a messenger bag, removing the notebook inside and dumping the pencils out on the floor. Dum-E made a delighted squeak, scuttling after the few that rolled away before setting about lining them up by color.

"You guys want to learn to draw?" he asked as Butterfingers leaned over his shoulder.

* * *

**development** |diˈveləpmənt|

_noun_

1. an event constituting a new stage in a changing situation

2. the process of treating photographic film with chemicals to make a visible image.


	2. Aperture

**2. Aperture**

"The first reel is completed, sir," JARVIS declared about half an hour later. Steve looked up from where he'd sprawled on the floor, as he attempted to show Dum-E and Yoo how to make a paper airplane. Butterfingers was already zipping up and down the lab, chasing his own. Drawing hadn't really gone very well because they didn't seem capable of the correct pressure.

"Would you like me to send the file to your server so that you can view it in the privacy of your suite?" JARVIS added. Steve thought about that a moment. He didn't really know what was on the tapes. There were some things that had happened, things he really didn't want to think about, much less see again.

"JARVIS, could you just play it now?" Steve asked a bit breathlessly. "And if... If I leave, just."

"I believe I understand, sir," JARVIS interrupted, turning on the TV screen along the wall and blacking out the lab windows. "The serial numbers appear to be sequential and Yoo has arranged them for processing in order."

"So they're kind of a timeline?" Steve asked, settling on the couch, Dum-E shifting to nestle his head in Steve's lap.

"It would appear so, sir," JARVIS replied as the screen flickered to life. The film stuttered, light and dark and then shades of dark blue and brown and Steve leaned forward in surprise, his breath catching in his throat. He'd been expecting black and white but the bunkers of the Strategic Scientific Reserve burst to life on the screen in startling color, Officers in olive uniforms and technicians in bright white lab coats scurrying past the rows of oak desks piled high with blueprints.

"Just... get your hands off, Wells," Howard Stark's voice snapped, the camera tilting slightly as he shifted it around. "I've got it, I've got it... don't you have something important to blow up?" Steve let out a snort of amusement. He watched one of the technicians dip his head, scuttling out of the way and he stroked Dum-E's head absently. It all looked painfully familiar.

Howard panned the camera down the row of desks, recording the ebb and flow until finally settling on Steve's face, asleep and scrunched against a pile of paperwork. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked as if he hadn't slept in several days. Steve gave a grim smile. He probably hadn't. He rarely slept on missions, he didn't need to and it felt like shirking to make his men lose sleep keeping watch when he would hardly miss it. He tended to crash at the end of each mission, storing up before heading back out again.

"Steeeeeevooooo," Howard murmured in a sing-song voice. He picked a pencil off the desk, gently prodding Steve in the middle of his forehead.

"Stop it, Stark," Peggy's admonishing voice floated over the buzz of the room. "Remember what happened last time?"

"Why do you think I'm not actually touching him?" Howard asked. He gave Steve another gentle prod in the cheek. "Wake up Stevey."

"Howard," Peggy scolded more sternly.

"Rise and shine, sunshine!" Howard poked Steve in the nose. Steve's hand shot out on reflex, snapping the pencil.

"Damn," Steve hissed, blinking blearily down at the pencil shards in the palm of his hand before looking up at the camera with a wounded expression. "Howard, that was my last good pencil!"

"Relax, Steveo, I had a whole new box shipped in for you with my camera," Howard shrugged offhandedly, jiggling the camera. "What do you think of my new toy?"

"You woke me up to play with a camera?" Steve asked incredulously.

"Nonsense, I'm documenting science!" Howard declared happily, stepping back for a wider shot. "Your pencil gave it's life for an experiment in serum reflexes."

"That could have been your hand," Steve said uneasily. "Again."

"I learned my lesson," Howard assured.

"I really don't think you have," Peggy stated. Howard panned the camera to her desk, Peggy was twirling a lock of her hair around her finger as she wrote, her full lips barely parted

"Smile for the camera, Peggs," Howard declared gleefully. "It's color film, we'll be able to see those ruby red lips of yours."

"Howard, some of us have work to do," she stated in fond exasperation, only glancing up as Stark moved, framing Peggy in the front of the shot and Steve in the background, a wistful expression on his face as he watched her.

It was all a little disconcerting, seeing himself like this, seeing Peggy again, just as he remembered her. For him it didn't seem so long ago but the face in the film looked so much younger. It felt like a different world.

"You look like shit, Steveo," Howard declared his grin evident in his tone.

"There's a war on," Steve deadpanned. "you might have noticed."

"Not so much, no," Howard shook his head, jostling the camera again. "You need to get some color in your face before somebody mistakes you for a corpse and tags you. Am I right Peggy?"

"Howard, stop picking on him," Peggy scolded lightly, and Steve blushed at the look of adoration on the face of his younger self.

"I bet you could think of some really good ways to put some color on his face." Howard intoned and Steve could almost imagine his naughty grin from the cadence of his voice. From out of thin air Peggy produced a tube of vibrant red lipstick and Steve's face flushed scarlet.

"Not what I had in mind but totally effective." Howard laughed. "Don't move Steve, I'm going to use you to calibrate my color balance."

Steve bit back a laugh as the film skipped though a splice before focusing in on a shot of the Howling Commandos in the local pub, hunched around a table together and singing Wild Rover with the other patrons, half of the men shouting 'whisky' and the other half bellowing 'beer'.

The next scene was one of Bucky helping Howard test new body armor, the pair of them giggling like school boys with a new toy. Following that, he and Howard and the Howling Commandos were in the same pub, now bombed out and gutted beyond all recognition, drinking a silent toast to Bucky.

The film flickered again and Howard's lab came into view, the camera focusing on Stark's face as he fiddled with the tripod.

"Stark," It was Peggy's voice, sounding grim and angry and Steve bit his lip as she appeared in the doorway

"What can I do for you, Peggs?" Howard asked, his tone friendly.

"I ought to break every bone in your body," Peggy stated, her rage cold, almost quiet and Steve felt a twisting in his stomach.

"I..." Howard seemed taken aback and he shifted a step as his expression turned calculating. "What's happened?"

"He's up in medical right now," Peggy snapped, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Having a bullet dug out of his shoulder... Without anesthetic, Howard! Because they tried to put him under three times and it didn't work!" Howard honestly choked and the vibrant color of the film picked up the green tinge that settled on his face. Steve cringed. He remembered that as if it were yesterday, it had been all he could do to keep from screaming, Dum Dum pinning him down to the gurney to help keep him steady, his head swimming. Montgomery had chivvied Peggy out of the room to preserve what was left of his dignity but deep down he had wanted her to stay, more frightened of the pain than the humiliation.

"We didn't..." Howard took a deep breath. "It's his increased metabolism, his body must be processing the anesthetic too fast for it to take."

"Fix it," She demanded venomously.

"I can't," Howard shook his head. "I would if I could. Peggy you know I would. We didn't mean for this to happen." Peggy looked on the verge of tears, her shoulders drawing up in rapid breaths.

"We should have left him the way he was," Her breath hitched. "He was fine the way he was." Howard turned away, his attention falling on his lab bench as he shuffled papers.

"I wonder that you weren't as infatuated with him before," Howard stated.

She slapped him. Hard. The crack of her palm on his cheek echoed though the room and Howard stared at her in stunned silence as a bright red hand print bloomed on his face.

"It's men like you," Her voice wavered. "That mocked him his whole life, that drove him to this."

"His lungs were giving out," Howard stated sternly but not unkindly. "Peggs, you know he wasn't fine. If it hadn't been for the serum."

"It's _torture_, Howard!"

"I'm sorry... I know a fellow in Africa," Howard placated. "I'll have some elephant tranquilizers sent in. I'm not sure they'll do the trick but we can try them." Peggy brushed a tear from the corner of her eye, nodding sharply before storming out of the room.

"Shit," Howard hissed, blinking.

Steve stared at the screen, his mind skipping gears as the tape fluttered though another splice. They'd never told him but, down deep he'd known. He'd had pneumonia so many times, his body would have to give out sooner rather than later. He supposed it was part of the reason he'd so desperately wanted to serve, he'd been running out of time to do something with his life and he knew it.

"Hey Steveo," Steve blinked up at Howard's face on the screen, his expression drawn and a glass of scotch in his hand. He didn't look very good. "I'm meant to be at your memorial service but I just couldn't... I spent two weeks straight looking for you before they called me back in. I'm fighting with Col. Phillips to go back out next week. I swear to you, what you've done, it's not going to be for nothing. I'm going to find you and I'm going to bring you home if I have to look for you for the rest of my life. You're..." Howard's voice trailed off and he rubbed his forehead.

"You're probably the best friend I've ever had," Howard said softly. "I let you down, Steve. I'm sorry." Howard swore under his breath and the tape hitched, refocusing on Howard's lab.

"The Nazis surrendered," Howard looked as if he didn't half believe it, his eyes glassy. "They're still fighting in the Pacific but we're packing things up here and then we're heading home." Howard paused a moment, a soft smile on his lips.

"The others are heading home," He stated. "I bought an ice cutter. I figured what the hell, it's only money. I'm going back out to look for you as soon as we're done here. They're trying to draw me in on a project state side. I told them I'd take a look but I'm coming for you first thing after that."

There was a fresh splice, and then what looked to be random footage of Howard sitting on the corner of a desk in a place Steve didn't recognize, his phone pressed to his ear.

"No," Howard said angrily. "You put him on, and you put him on now! I did not work on this project so that you could bomb civilians! What the fuck is wrong with you? NO you listen! You lied to me! I fixed your fucking problem because he swore to me this would limit the collateral damage and Hiroshima is a fucking crater in the earth! Now you put him on PUT HIM ON NOW!" Steve blinked in horror, a sick feeling twisting in his stomach as Howard screamed into the phone. He slammed the receiver down, jerking the phone line from the wall and physically heaving the entire phone into the window, shattering it into pieces. A piece of the phone bounce back, ricocheting against the camera and sending it toppling to the floor as the tape flickered. A few more moments of dead film ran by and the camera refocused again. Howard was sitting on the floor of what looked a little like the lab in Brooklyn, a giddy, drunken expression on his face. He looked pale and worn, lines on his face that had not been there when Steve had last seen him only a few short months before this.

"We won, Cap," Howard let out a laugh, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. "The war's over, we won." He took a long slug from the glass in his hand.

"The damn price we had to pay," Howard shook his head, his expression ill. "I'm almost glad you're not here to see this. It's been so long since I thought about anything but the war I don't even know what to do with myself... Damn, I owe you buddy. We all owe you, so much. I'm not going to let them forget you, Steveo. I'm never going to let that happen. You deserve better than that. I'm going to look out for Peggy for you, just until you get back. I might even be a gentleman about it. So you hang in there. The fighting's over and I'm coming for you, pal."

The tape ran out and as the screen dimmed. Steve rubbed his hands over his face.

"Are you quite all right, sir?" JARVIS asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, JARVIS, I'm fine," Steve drew in a shaky breath.

"I'll have the next reel completed in another ten minutes if you'd like to wait," JARVIS stated.

"You know I think I'm going to take a break, JARVIS," Steve pushed himself off the couch, his hand trailing gently over Dum-E's arm. "I'll... I'll check back with you in a couple of hours."

"Of course, Captain," JARVIS shut off the TV and turned off the blackout on the windows, letting the light from the hallway filter into the lab. "I'll continue converting your films." Steve nodded, trudging out into the hall and heading for the elevator on shaky legs.

That wasn't at all what he'd expected and he wasn't sure he could face any more of it right away.

* * *

**aperture** |ˈapərˌCHər|

_noun, chiefly technical_

1. an opening, hole, or gap

2. a space through which light passes in an optical or photographic instrument, esp. the variable opening by which light enters a camera.


	3. Focus

**3. Focus**

"Problem, Cap?" Steve looked up from his spot on the bench that overlooked the landing window. Natasha was watching him with concerned eyes, her arms folded over her chest and her yoga pant clad hips leaning easily against the rail. Steve's pencil drummed softly against his sketchbook, the page empty.

"Not really," he sighed finally, shifting his feet on the bench to make room. She settled on the opposite end, folding her legs in front of her. "I just... had a run in with some old memories yesterday."

"It's never easy," she acknowledged. Steve stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head and looking out the window.

"You know when we first met I kind of believed that you'd trained yourself not to be affected by that kind of thing," Steve admitted, his cheeks flushing.

"Everyone can be compromised," Natasha stated, she seemed to consider him a moment before following his gaze over the city. "Everyone _is_ compromised in one way or another. Some of us just learn to mask it so that it won't be used against us."

"That actually makes me feel a little better," Steve admitted. He let his forehead tip against the glass, closing his eyes for only a moment. "Can I ask you something?" he chance a sidelong glance at her to find her nodding with a sad smile as if she already knew what he would say.

"How do you let go of what you've left behind?" He murmured softly. He turned his head, searching her expression, his breath fogging the glass.

"You find something to hold onto," she answered simply. Steve thought about that answer for a moment.

"Clint?" He asked. She nodded, brushing a lock of red hair from her face.

"He brought me in on instinct alone," Natasha stated as if the very though of it mystified her. "Trusted me. And Coulson and Fury trusted him."

"But you chose this," Steve pointed out.

"I could chose to stay what I was and die or more forward and live," Natasha answered, her expression without emotion. "I chose to live."

"Do you ever miss it?" Steve asked before he could stop himself. She nodded slightly, her smile never fading. "Couldn't you go back?"

"Would you, if you could?" she countered. Steve stared at her for a long moment. When he'd first woken he'd thought about it every day, pined for it, longed for it as if he were an amputee aching for a missing limb. He didn't even remember when he'd stopped feeling that way.

He shook his head slowly and Natasha's eyes sparkled.

"You must have found something to hold onto," She observed. "Nothing left to do but move forward." She slid closer to him, her fingers gently brushing his wrist as she placed a kiss on his forehead.

"You can't wipe the slate clean and start over," she stated. "It isn't meant to be that way. You have to carry it with you, learn to accept it, balance out the ledger when you can." Steve nodded in understanding and she gave his hand a squeeze before standing to her feet, sashaying up the stairs. Steve let out a sigh, closing his sketchbook.

"JARVIS, if anyone asks I've gone out for a run," Steve declared, stuffing the sketchbook under the bench and standing to his feet.

"Of course, Captain," JARVIS answered readily.

"Um... when I get back would it be all right if I borrowed the TV in Tony's lab to watch more of those films you're working on for me?"

"The lab is currently unused, Captain," JARVIS replied as Steve headed for the elevator. "I've finished digitizing the last of your film reels, I'll have them awaiting your return."

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve gave a thin smile. He needed to suck it up and get through this. He wasn't sure he really wanted to see more of the films but Howard had set them aside specifically for him and if it had meant that much to his friend then it meant something to Steve too. He just had one thing he needed to take care of first.

* * *

"Okay, guys, Don't press too hard, you'll make a mess," Steve rolled the brightly colored crayons out on the lab floor and Dum-E let out a string of squeaks and pops that made him sound like an over-excited parakeet. Yoo stared at them, his head tilting from side to side as Butterfingers swept up three crayons at once, drawing swirls on the paper Steve had spread out on the floor.

"I'm not sure the 96 box was entirely necessary, Captain." Jarvis observed in amusement as Dummy struggled to decide if Aquamarine was lighter or darker than Turquoise Blue.

"When I was a kid, crayons came in eight colors, JARVIS," Steve remarked, drawing a tree in the corner of Yoo's paper. "No judgements!" he added as an afterthought.

"I would not dream of it," JARVIS declared drily. "Shall I queue your films, sir?"

"Yeah," Steve let out a long slow breath, dusting off his hands and pulling himself onto the sofa as Tony's bots sprawled across the floor with their crayons. Without comment JARVIS blacked out the hall windows and Steve settled back on the sofa nervously, rubbing his palms against his thighs as the tape flickered into focus.

"It's New York, Steveo, home sweet home!" Howard was pointing the camera out the fourth floor window of what was obviously Stark Mansion. Out on 5th avenue, people, their faces light hearted and happy, scurried down the sidewalks and headed through the park. Shouting children dragged baseball bats and gloves roughhousing with one another.

"I've missed New York," Howard said softly, his voice barely picked up by the microphone.

The film cut to footage of Howard in the lab, then of the ice cutter, the ship's captain shouting something over the icy wind as what must have been one of Howard's assistants filmed Stark standing at the bow, his eyes scanning the horizon. More clips of the lab, and what appeared to be a heat scanning device, then Howard on a glacier as one of his technicians used the scanner.

There was a room full of faces he didn't recognize laughing as Howard popped open a bottle of champaign, all of them toasting "to SHIELD!"

There was footage of Peggy on Howard's arm at what looked like a symposium, probably somewhere in Europe. Howard was true to his word though, he was escorting Peggy as if she were his sister, protective and shooting looks at more than one attendee who seemed surprised to see a woman present.

The next clip was of Howard in a tuxedo, a champaign flute in his hand as he descended the stairs of Stark Mansion. Steve smiled at the sad familiarity. He'd been to several foundation fundraisers at the mansion since the Avengers formed. It looked much the same though the clothing the guests were wearing was much more mid century. Howard was laughing, glad-handing the guests.

"Miss. Carbonell," He said with a suave smile, the younger woman turned, her honey curls tumbling over her shoulders as she smiled at him.

"Mr. Stark," she gave him an appraising look as he kissed her hand. She seemed much less impressed with him than the other women milling about who were trying to gain Howard's attention.

"Howard, if you've got a minute," A younger man with dark, slicked back hair grasped Howard's arm with a friendly grin, trying to tug him away.

"What? Obie, no, I haven't got a minute," He flashed Miss. Carbonell a warm smile before turning to his friend. "What're you doing, it's a party, go find a nice girl or something."

"Oh I've seen you've found a girl," Obie teased lightly.

"Maria is not a girl," Howard corrected, his eyes sparkling.

"Yeah I got that," Obie leered.

"Seriously, go... do something!" Howard shrugged him off. "Drink... what am I paying for this stuff for?"

"If you're busy Mr. Stark I hate to keep you," Maria declared, giving him a serious look.

"I am never too busy for you," He insisted. "And how many times do I have to ask you to call me Howard, my dear?"

"I'm sure you'll have to ask me again, Mr Stark," she replied, glancing at the camera. "You do look rather occupied."

"Morris, turn that thing off," Howard crowded into the camera.

"Is she amazing or what, Steveo?" he muttered before turning back. "Dance with me Miss. Carbonell!" The film cut out, rattling through another splice.

"JARVIS?" The film paused and Steve leaned back on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling. "Maria Carbonell... Maria?"

"Mr. Howard Stark married Ms. Maria Carbonell in June of 1965 sir," JARVIS supplied. Steve let out a long slow breath.

"Could you back up the tape please?" The tape rewound and Steve watched as it played though again. "Hold."

He could see Tony in Maria's eyes, her teasing look, her calculating expression as if she were taking stock of everyone and everything around her. Where most of the other guests seemed to be intent on ingratiating themselves she seemed less impressed. It wasn't conceit, her smile was kind, and there was a politeness in the way she interacted with everyone around her. She simply treated Howard no different than anyone else present. Howard was right, she was amazing. Steve couldn't help but think he would have adored her.

"The fellow holding Howard's arm?" Steve asked hesitantly.

"Obadiah Stane," JARVIS' tone was clipped, and Steve winced.

"He's..." Steve stared at the man on the screen. He'd seen Tony's SHIELD file, specifically the file on Warmonger. Not for the first time a sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. "JARVIS, please tell me I'm remembering the name wrong." JARVIS didn't answer and Steve closed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair.

"I've read SHIELD's file," Steve said softly. "I know how Stane stole an arc reactor, attacked Tony and Pepper and endangered a bunch of civilians in the ensuing firefight. I don't want... There's more than Tony told in the debriefing isn't there?"

"Yes Captain," JARVIS answered softly. Steve didn't ask for more, though he had a feeling JARVIS might actually tell him if he did, if only to spare Tony having to confirm Steve's suspicions. Steve stared up at the screen, his heart twisting at the amused look on Howard's face.

"He was Howard's friend," Steve murmured.

"They were very close, yes sir," JARVIS confirmed. Steve winced, trying not to look at Stane and instead turning his attention back to Maria.

"Could you resume play, please?" Steve's voice wavered and he watched as clips of a christening of a new ice cutter in the arctic played, followed by film of Maria on the balcony of a hotel, laughing at the camera. More footage of the lab, Howard and Obie laughing over drinks. Steve watched it all play out, feeling as powerless as he had when he was scrawny and sickly. There was another splice in the tape and the picture resolved to a shot of Howard's workshop in the basement of Stark Mansion. He was sitting at his workbench, a blue blanket cradled in his arms.

"Take a look at this, Cap," Howard shifted the tiny bundle in his arms. "This is Anthony Edward Stark. Say hello to Captain America, Anthony. Isn't he beautiful? He was making a fuss and I think he's run his nanny ragged so I thought I'd bring him down here. Because a Stark is never too young to pull an all-nighter in the lab, isn't that right Anthony? You're a Stark man and sleep is for people who have never had a really good idea."

Steve couldn't help but smile as Howard crooned over his son. Tony was half asleep, one tiny fist curling around his father's finger and a twinge lanced through Steve's chest. He was meant to be in this picture, Howard had wanted him to be here. That's what all these reels were about. The moments when Howard had been thinking of his best friend and wishing he could be there. Steve rubbed the tears from the corners of his eyes with a sigh.

"Maria insists on calling him Tony." Howard rolled his eyes, brushing a kiss on Tony's head. "That's going to stick. Don't you go letting those women push you around, Anthony."

"Howard?"

"Shit," he hissed under his breath, scrabbling to turn off the camera. "Yes dear?" Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing as the tape ran out.

"I beg your pardon, sir," JARVIS stated. "But Doctor Banner is asking if you'll be joining them for dinner."

"Dinner?" Steve asked in surprise. "Jarvis how long have I been in here?"

"Nearly three hours, sir," the AI replied. Steve's brow furrowed in confusion. He'd have sworn he'd only been down here an hour at most.

"Tell Bruce I'm on my way up," Steve requested, slumping back on the sofa and staring at the ceiling. "I just... I need a minute."

"I'll relay the message, sir," JARVIS promised.

Steve bit his lip. For the very first time he allowed himself to think, to truly honestly think about what might have been. He'd never thought about the future, about life beyond the war. It was as if he'd never truly expected to survive to the armistice. Maybe that was why he'd never worked up the nerve to tell Peggy what he really felt, he couldn't see beyond the next mission.

He'd have married Peggy. There was a time that didn't seem so long ago where he would have considered that a pipe dream. Peggy had never married. According to Tony, who had know her his entire life, there had never been anyone, she'd been married to her work. Tony liked to talk about her, called her 'Aunt Peggy' related stories of her spoiling him with trips to the zoo and ice creams without his mother's permission and his first chemistry set that the box declared was three years too old for him. In Tony's stories she was always happy and Steve took comfort in that.

There was still a part of him that wondered if Peggy would have said yes if he had asked. He would have asked, certain of her refusal at the time but he'd have asked all the same. Maybe she would have said yes. Maybe they would have had children of their own. Maybe he'd have stayed with the Army. He wasn't sure, maybe he'd have gone to college on the GI bill. Maybe he would have taken a job with STARK industries. Howard had told him repeatedly to see him as soon as the war was over. Maybe he'd have signed on with SHIELD at the very beginning.

Maybe it would be Director Rogers of SHIELD now.

Maybe he'd have retired to spend time with his family. Maybe it would have been his own son or daughter and not himself who fought with the Avengers and bickered with Tony and sparred with Thor and cooked with Bruce and Phil and blushed at Natasha and Clint's risqué jokes that made use of the only Russian he'd ever learned. Maybe he and Peggy would have taken Tony in when Howard and Maria died.

Maybe they'd never have died at all.

He recalled his earlier conversation with Natasha and he slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. He wouldn't go back even if he could. He had found a home here, something he hadn't had in so very long, not since his mother died. He'd lost the last shreds of that life long before he'd crashed in the arctic, it had disappeared into that snow covered ravine with Bucky. But he'd found it again in this far flung future even more remarkable than the flying car at the Stark Expo all those years ago. He had brothers to mock him and sisters to tease him and if he were brutally honest even a little bit of a father in the way Phil looked out for all of them, even though Coulson wouldn't appreciate the allusion.

And he wouldn't give that up for anything.

"Captain, I could tell Doctor Banner that you'll be delayed," JARVIS offered gently.

"No, that's ok," Steve sighed, dragging his sleeve over his eyes. "I'm... I'm coming." Steve heaved himself off the couch, stepping over the crayons on the floor. He was half way to the door when he felt a tug on the hem of his t shirt. He looked down to find Yoo grasping hold of him and Butterfingers with a piece of drawing paper dangling from his finger pads.

"Thanks fellas," he said softly, taking the drawing. He held it up, there were two red circles, one inside the other and at the center a lopsided star drawn with a blue crayon.

"Is this my shield?" he asked in wonder. Butterfingers swayed happily and Steve let out a chuckle, petting Butterfinger's head.

"Play nice," Steve instructed, heading back toward the door, his steps a little lighter. "I'll be back later."

* * *

**focus** |ˈfōkəs|

_noun_

the state or quality of having or producing clear visual definition

_verb_

[ with obj. ] to adjust the focus of (a telescope, camera, or other instrument)


	4. Parallax

**4. Parallax**

"You have been preoccupied," Thor's words weren't an accusation and Steve smiled slightly, drawing his knees to his chest and making room on the sofa. Thor collapsed beside him with a contented sigh, stretching his feet out on the coffee table. Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing at his socks. They were covered in rainbows and little cats with pop-tart bodies.

"Have you ever wanted to go back and fix something you got wrong?" Steve asked seriously. "Make up for something you felt badly about. And then realized if you did that you'd lose something that meant even more to you?"

"Everyone wishes to turn back time, Stephen," Thor stated with a gentle smile. "It is only the wise who realize what a tragedy that would be."

"I was so bitter over what I'd lost when I woke up," Steve sighed, folding his legs in front of him. "I missed out on being grateful for being alive, for a second chance. I couldn't look past the loss and the disappointment and see how really remarkable it all is."

"I think you might be a bit hard on yourself," Thor observed. "The loss was great, to morn it was necessary." Steve thought about that a moment before nodding in reluctant agreement.

"Do you miss home?" Steve asked, his brow crinkling in worry. Thor only smiled.

"Yes," He nodded. "But when I am there I miss all of you greatly." A proper smile curled Steve's lips and he gave Thor an impish look.

"Even Clint?" He asked, barely holding in his laugh.

"Especially Clint," Thor insisted, stifling his own laughter.

"So now I find out who my real friends are!" a muffled, affronted voice declared.

"Private conversation, Barton!" Steve snapped sternly, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling.

"Here?" Clint demanded through the ventilation grate. "You're kidding right?"

"Barton!" Steve's voice turned warning as Thor chuckled.

"Fine!" Clint made an inordinate amount of noise slithering away as Steve covered his mouth with his hand.

"Better?" Thor asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, thanks," Steve nodded. Thor gripped his arm roughly before hauling himself to his feet, strolling toward the kitchen.

Steve stared down at his hands resting on his knees. There were still times when he'd forget that he wasn't small and thin and easy to overlook. He'd been so sure he'd outgrow it but maybe some things never quite left you.

"Captain," JARVIS declared, interrupting his train of thought. "Director Fury is on the line for you." Steve stifled a sigh.

"Any idea what he wants?" Steve rolled off the sofa, heading for the elevator. He had learned the hard way that it was in his best interests to gain intel before dealing with anyone at SHIELD, apart from Phil. And JARVIS was always a wealth of information.

"Something about Saturday Night Live, I believe," JARVIS answered with the faintest hint of amusement. Steve groaned, letting his head fall back against the elevator wall.

"Put him through," Steve rolled his eyes as the doors closed.

* * *

"Welcome home, Captain," JARVIS declared as Steve boarded the elevator, slouching in the corner with a tired frown.

"Thanks JARVIS," Steve ran his fingers through his hair. "Anything I missed?"

"The Mario Cart championships, apparently," JARVIS intoned sardonically.

"Damn," Steve grumbled in disappointment. He was exhausted, but more mentally than physically. He just couldn't understand the constant media obsession. The interviews he could almost comprehend, but comedy shows? It made no sense. What really made no sense was why Fury seemed so keen on the idea, going on about how good it would be for public perception and morale. Sometimes he was absolutely certain the director was jerking his chain. "What time is it?"

"Ten twenty-three," JARVIS answered. "Would you like me to start your shower, sir?"

"No," Steve shook his head, watching the numbers slide slowly by as the elevator rose toward the top floors. "Stop, stop here JARVIS." The elevator doors slid open on the darkened corridor and Steve rolled his shoulders, exiting the lift. The lights came up to half power in Tony's lab without Steve even asking and he smiled to himself as he keyed open the door.

"Hey fellas!" He said cheerfully as Yoo skidded across the room toward him, beeping happily. Butterfingers and Dum-E looked up from their charging stations, Dum-E making a vague approximation of a wave.

"Sorry I haven't been by to see you guys today," Steve sighed, slumping down on the couch. Butterfingers leaned over the back, resting his head on Steve's shoulder as Dum-E rifled though the fridge in the kitchenette, coming back with a glass bottled coke.

"Of course," Steve shook his head as he popped the coke open. Leave it to Tony to stock Steve's favorite in the lab. "You guys draw anything while I was away?" Yoo's head bobbed up and down and he returned a moment later with a paper airplane, its surface carefully decorated in red and gold.

"Ok, that's clever," Steve said, chuckling as Yoo took his airplane back, throwing it across the room and rolling after it. "Be sure to show Tony that when he gets home!" Steve called after the bot. He settled back on the sofa, his fingers trailing over Butterfinger's head.

"JARVIS, can you queue up the tapes?" Steve asked softly.

"Captain," the AI stated with a firm tone. "Need I remind you that you have not slept since two this morning?"

"Nope, no need," Steve declared mildly, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I thought not," and was that a sigh? Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing as the TV flickered to life.

"Thanks mom," Steve muttered under his breath, leaning back into the corner of the couch.

The picture focused on the ball room of Stark Mansion, but it wasn't a high society formal gathering. Steve leaned forward in his seat, his breath catching in his throat. So many years had passed but he'd know that face anywhere. It was Jim Morita. He could hear Howard telling him to smile and Jim laughed, grabbing Dum Dum by the arm and hiding behind him as Gabriel leaned into the shot, waving. They were all there, Peggy, the Howling Commandos, some of the members of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, all chattering happily. In the background a little boy about two or three was running between the legs of the guests.

"Tony!" Howard barked, and Steve could hear the jangle of nerves in his voice. "No running in the house!" Tony skidded to a stop, ducking behind Jacques with a worried expression.

"Kids going to crack his head open on the bar," Howard grumbled in exasperation. Steve frowned but Howard seemed not to notice that his son was watching him with keen eyes. Montgomery swept Tony up on his shoulder, earning a squeal of delight and Steve spotted Maria in the background, smiling.

The splice in the tape flickered over shots of a Christmas tree and greenery trimmed bannisters before settling on the oak desk in Howard's office.

"Merry Christmas, Cap," Howard declared, raising his glass. He paused a long moment, resting his head against the tumbler, letting the ice cool his forehead. "It's been thirty years... can you believe that?" a sad smile curled his lips and he took a firm drink of his scotch.

"Tony wrote a letter to Santa," Howard stated, waving the folded paper in his hand. "He's five now, first time he wrote it entirely by himself. I was so damn proud until I read the stupid thing." Howard flicked the letter open with a sigh.

"Dear Santa, I've been extra extra good this year, I have something special I want for Christmas this year." Howard's voice cracked painfully and he hesitated over the next words. "I want Daddy's friend, Captain America to come home. He got lost a long time ago and Daddy's been looking for him. If you could find him and bring him home that would be great because Daddy misses him a lot and I want us to go on adventures." Howard's image seemed to choke up and he let the letter drift to his desk, emptying his glass.

"He brought it to me wondering if it was a good enough letter and I just kind of stared at him," Howard sighed. "Obie finally told him that Santa would do his best but that he might not be able to find you either. Thank god for Obie, huh?" Howard looked as if he were going to be ill.

"What the hell am I doing, pal?" Howard asked softly.

Steve bit his lip as the film cycled though more shots of the christening of yet another new ice cutter. Tony clambering to take the wheel and Howard worriedly trying to shoo him off. More shots of the lab with a slightly older Tony peering around the safety glass as Howard welded what looked like a jet engine together. Howard drinking a beer as Tony, standing on a crate, covered in engine grease, tinkered under the hood of the Bugatti. Howard admonishing that if Tony didn't take his time and do it properly he'd find a new assistant.

Footage of Tony sitting on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with Obie, the pair of them building a roller coaster with an erector set. The tape spliced again, cutting off Tony mid laugh as the rail car shot off the end of the track, hitting the camera.

"You've got to see this, Steve," Howard stated gleefully, pushing the button on the toy in his hand and tossing it in the air. "Look at that! Tony designed this, can you believe this? I had to send the little shit off to bed to get a chance to play with it." Howard wore a look of glee that Steve wasn't sure he'd seen on the man's face since the day Steve had crawled out of the pod in Brooklyn. He was so proud it was almost palpable. There was a rustling in the hall and Howard swore, turing the controls off and barely managing to catch the toy before it could crash to the floor. He hurried out of frame.

"Tony, I thought your mother sent you to bed?" Howard demanded sharply. Steve could hear a child's voice but not the words. "No you can't have a glass of milk, go back to bed! Go on! It's after ten!" Steve frowned sadly.

There were more shots of Tony on the bow of the ice cutter, the hood of his coat pulled around his ears and his face flushed beneath his scarf. More shots of the lab where Howard winced as if in pain as Tony carefully soldered wires to a circuit board, sparks flying into the boy's hair. Steve shook his head, Howard Stark, the man who flew a civilian plane behind enemy lines was the most terrified parent Steve had ever seen in his life. It was a wonder the man hadn't kicked from the strain to his blood pressure alone.

The scene focused on the workshop at the mansion. Howard was sitting in the middle of the floor with what looked suspiciously like a half disassembled first generation Apple computer. Steve recognized it from some of his reading. Howard wore an irritated expression, the kind he had when he was faced with a problem he couldn't solve so instead chose to address an unimportant problem he could.

"We've had another stupid-ass principal at another school ask us to place him somewhere else," Howard rolled his eyes at the camera in frustration. "they're saying he's disruptive. Of course he's disruptive, they refuse to... do anything _with_ him! I'm sure it's incredibly disruptive to have an 11 year old who knows more about physics than the entire teaching staff combined. I think Maria's at her wits end with him. He sort of set fire to the basement again." Howard tried desperately to stifle an evil grin.

"Do you have any idea how damn hard it is not to giggle at your kid when he sets fire to a wall while trying to build a talking toaster?" Howard demanded. Steve choked back a snort of amusement. "And don't you dare laugh at me! I thought Maria was going to kill me!" Steve covered his mouth with his hand as Howard's expression turned from amused to morose.

"We've run out of schools now." Howard let out a long sigh, tossing aside his screw driver to clatter across the floor. "I don't know. There's a boarding school upstate for gifted children, he'd be able to study at a college level. I kind of feel like we should send him there. I could hire a private tutor but no one I could get could possibly challenge him. He has a gift and I don't want to waste it. I don't know. I wish you were here, Steveo. I just want to do the right thing for him. I haven't the faintest idea what that even is."

More and more of the footage turned to the lab, satellite systems, body armor, search and rescue equipment, smart bombs, trials of each of them taking place in the arctic. Tony still appeared in the background of much of the footage but Steve had known enough desperation in his own life to recognize it when he saw it on a child's face. Howard was losing perspective, so much so that he didn't realize his own son was trying to impress him. There were no more shots of parties or soirees, no more gatherings with their friends from the war. Even Maria appeared less and less in the footage as more and more of it was of experiments and engineering and computer systems.

The camera focused in on Howard's chest and Steve realized he was tinkering with the camera and probably hadn't meant to turn it on. The camera tilted to the side and Steve caught a glimpse of a head of dark hair over the arm of the sofa in the corner. Howard murmured something about color balance and righted the camera, panning the room.

"Tony?" He seemed surprised that his son was even in the lab and Tony mumbled something incoherent, curling up in a ball. "Tony, damn it, go to bed. What are you still doing down here? It's three in the morning!"

"I'm not tired," Tony mumbled. Howard grasped him by the sleeve, pulling him up. Tony looked small for his age, scrawny and thin and definitely too pale as if he spent too much time inside. As if he were already learning some of the awful habits he practiced now. The boy wobbled on his feet and Howard shoved him along, not cruelly.

"Go on! Bed!" Howard barked but it seemed to do nothing to rouse the boy from sleep. Howard let out a sigh under his breath as he watched Tony half crawl, half stumble up the basement stairs. "Your mother's going to have my hide, damn it." Howard turned the camera on himself, shaking his head.

"He came to Obie last week with this incredibly sophisticated guidance system," Howard stated in a low voice, bewilderment clear in his expression. "The kid is thirteen, Cap. Thirteen years old. He just shaved three months off our development schedule. I was so stunned I couldn't say a thing. Damn he's impressive. How in the hell do you take credit for a kid like that? I look at him sometimes and think to myself, how the hell is he even mine? I'm no slouch, I'm damn brilliant. But Tony, he's incredible. By the time he's twenty five he's going to make me look like a cave man." Was that jealousy? Steve wasn't sure. There was pride there too, of course but it was hidden as if Howard were ashamed of it.

The footage of the STARK Industries lab slowly disappeared, replaced more and more with the basement workshop at the mansion and shots aboard the ice cutter. Test firings of a guided missile breaking up ice sheets with finite precision. Tony had all but disappeared from the footage now and Steve felt a sick feeling in his chest. He'd been watching Howard age so slowly that he almost hadn't noticed but now the passage of time was wearing on him. He looked old, desperate and the faintest bit obsessed.

"I promised you I was going to get you home!" Howard shouted at the camera over the ocean wind, the sea buffeting the ice cutter. "This is the summer Steveo, I can feel it!" Steve covered his mouth with his hands, a sick feeling rolling in his stomach. Howard had promised, all those years ago in 1945 when he had still been a young man with his whole life ahead of him, he'd made a promise to his best friend. Howard was old now, his time was running out and his promise still unkept. It was eating him alive.

Steve felt tears sting his eyes. He hadn't wanted this, this was the last thing he'd wanted. He'd ditched that plane for a reason, he wanted the people he'd cared about to live. Howard was missing out on his life, on his wife and son for a stupid promise he never should have made.

The tape rolled through another splice and Steve had not seen Howard's home office in so long he almost didn't recognize it. His breath caught in his throat, Howard sat at his desk, a glass of scotch in his hand and something in his eye Steve had never seen before.

He looked scared.

"Steve, I'm in over my head." Howard's voice shook slightly, pitched low as if he were afraid to be overheard. "I think someone, someone inside the company, has been selling our stuff on the black market. Someone at the top. The worst of it is, I have no idea who it is. I have to protect Maria and Tony, I'm not even sure I'm safe to be near them now. Steve I don't know what to do. Tony's been accepted to MIT... I know, he's just a kid. I was going to let him defer, give him some time to grow up a little, but I need to get him away from here, at least until I sort this out. I can't worry about anything but keeping them alive right now. Damn, I wish you were here pal. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd swear it was Obie. I know he means well, but he keeps spending time with Tony doing the things I'd meant to do before I have a chance to do them." Steve felt a lurch in his chest, his hands tightening into fists where they rested on his thighs.

"No," he whispered, his voice cracking. "oh damn it, no Howard."

"I'm kidding myself." Howard gave a laugh tinged with self-loathing. "I was never going to get around to doing them anyway. Too damn obsessed. Isn't that rich? Think the only friend you have left in the world is betraying you and your country and everything you've built together. God I'm an asshole..." Howard swallowed thickly, looking into the camera with desperate eyes

"I wish you were here Steveo, I don't know what I'm going to do." He whispered. "I can't even protect my own son."

"Son of a bitch." The all too familiar voice shot through Steve's nervous system like lightening and he bolted to his feet, whirling to face the door. Tony stood on the threshold, gaping at the screen.

* * *

**parallax** |ˈparəˌlaks|

_noun_

1. the effect whereby the position or direction of an object appears to differ when viewed from different positions.

2. the difference between the view of an object as seen through the picture-taking lens of a camera and the view as seen through a separate viewfinder.


	5. Exposure

**5. Exposure**

"Tony?" Steve's voice shook and for a moment he felt frozen in place as Tony swayed on his feet slightly, leaning into the doorframe. Steve hadn't even heard the door open. "You're... back early."

"Just got in," Tony nodded, his eyes wide and glassy, and just the faintest bit horrified as he stared at the TV, the tape paused on Howard at his desk. Steve drew in a shaky breath.

"Damn it, Tony I'm so sorry, I didn't..." Tony ran a hand down his face, blinking rapidly.

"It's ok, Cap," Tony's voice was surprisingly steady as he glanced away struggling to pull himself together.

"I should have played them in my room," Steve lamented. "It's just... I wanted to be able to... distance myself if it got to be too much and you were out of town."

"Cap, it's ok, really," Tony repeated. His face was still ashen but it was the only indication he was affected at all as he squared his shoulders, crossing the lab to sink into his desk chair. He rolled it to the center of the room, staring at the TV with a blank expression. Steve picked his way carefully across the lab, swallowing as he clambered onto a stool at one of the workstations, almost close enough to reach out and touch the other man.

"Coulson gave me a crate they found in storage with my name on it," Steve related helplessly as if an explanation could some how mitigate the damage. He knew it couldn't but it was the only thing he had to offer. "I just thought it would be war stuff."

"Dad kept a video diary," Tony declared simply, never meeting his gaze.

"Yeah," Steve said softly. "I got that."

"The night," Tony choked on the words, grasping for control. "The night my folks died, Obie told me the roads were wet and the brakes gave out. And I told him it wasn't possible because I'd been home the weekend before and I'd tuned up the car and the brakes were fine. And he..." Tony's voice cracked and Steve winced.

"He told me never to repeat that," Tony's voice shook, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "To never admit that ever again. I thought it was because... because he thought I'd messed up something on the car."

"Stane," Steve spoke the name hesitantly but Tony didn't balk. "The arc reactor he stole... it was the one in your chest, wasn't it?" Tony's head whipped around, his eyes narrowing with malice. Steve looked away.

"After the fight with that stupid giant robot," Steve continued. "You took a blast to the chest, I brought you here and you locked down the lab and asked me to help you initialize a replacement arc reactor. You told me that Pepper and Rhodey were the only other people who knew how to do it and they weren't here so you needed my help. You made me swear never to tell anyone, ever. So if Stane didn't know how to activate an arc reactor..."

"He paralyzed me and pulled it from my chest," Tony confirmed nodding. "Left me to die on my living room couch." Tony looked back at the TV as Steve covered his mouth with his hands, a sick expression on his face.

"All this time I thought he blamed me for what happened to them," Tony rubbed his eyes, struggling to hold back the tide. "I thought he turned on me because his best friend died and he thought..." Tony drew in a long slow breath, letting it out with a shaky sigh.

"He was trying to cover his tracks," Tony whispered.

"It looks that way," Steve nodded in agreement. "If he was selling STARK tech on the black market..." Tony bolted to his feet, grasping the chair and hurling it across the room to crash into the cabinet along the wall. Steve was on his feet a second later, reaching a hand out to him but Tony brushed it away. He knocked the contents of one of the workbenches to the floor, parts and papers scattering across the tile. His hand closed over a hammer and he chucked it as hard as he could, his teeth gritting as it bounced off the bullet proof window glass and dented the industrial grade floors. He kicked over a tool chest with an angry scream, his chest heaving breathlessly and Steve's hand settled on his back in a gentle pressure.

"Tony,"

"No hugging!" Tony snapped, pointing an accusing finger at him, he drew in a handful of ragged breaths, the faintest whimper escaping his lips. "You're like a girl, what is wrong with you? Don't answer that, I really don't care. Just do _not_ hug me! There is no hugging in science."

"Okay," Steve agreed, nodding. He bit his lip to keep from saying anything more.

"He was all I had left," Tony was shaking now, though from rage or shock Steve couldn't tell. "He made me think it was..." Tony stumbled and Steve grabbed hold of his arm to steady him. Tony slumped against his chest, grasping at Steve's shirt as he choked back a keening lament. Steve hesitated only a moment, letting one arm slip around Tony's shoulders.

"He made me think it was my fault," Tony whispered into Steve's shoulder. "It wasn't. I knew it wasn't. I knew I didn't make a mistake but every time he looked at me after that it was like he was telling me they were dead because of me. He killed them, he killed his best friend over money. He meddled with the brakes and then made me think it was my fault to keep me under control."

"Tony I'm so sorry," Steve murmured. They stood like that in silence, the minutes ticking by, Tony's ragged breathing the only sound.

"You're hugging me, Cap," Tony pointed out finally.

"Yeah, I am, kind of," Steve admitted, his cheek turning pink. "But I think we're ok as long as no one comes in here with their camera phones." Tony pulled away with a chuckle.

"Pepper'd have a field day," Tony nodded.

"Natasha'd put us all over the internet," Steve agreed. Tony let out a snort of amusement. They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"Darcy," they declared in unison, both of them shuddering.

"It's almost three in the morning, how long have you been down here?" Tony asked curiously.

"Um... four hours?" Steve shrugged. Tony rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"You hungry?" Tony asked, jerking his head toward the door. "I'm starving, I've been in the air all day."

"I'm always hungry," Steve admitted, a blush coloring his cheeks. Tony drew in a shaky breath. He wasn't ok, Steve could tell, but if Tony wanted to pretend, Steve wasn't going to stop him.

"Mac and cheese?" Tony suggested. Steve gave a shrug. Tony turned toward the door and stopped. Dum-E had rolled up behind him, a piece of drawing paper in his claws.

"Is that?" Tony took the paper, staring at it with a stunned expression.

"Looks like the arc reactor," Steve observed, his blush returning as he leaned over Tony's shoulder.

"Rogers did you give my bots... _crayons_?" Tony demanded, aghast. Steve gave him a helpless look.

"What's this?" Tony asked turning back to Dum-E.

"Um..." Steve wheedled hesitantly a moment and Tony looked back at him with a frown. "Actually I think it's meant to be a heart... you know how little kids draw a heart for their parents only the bots wouldn't know what that is, so."

"I'm going to stop you right there," Tony insisted with a scowl. "Because that is far and away the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say Cap, and you are not a moron. No matter what I tell people."

"Yeah, ok," Steve grinned, shifting past him and heading toward the door. "JARVIS, there's mac and cheese in the pantry, right?"

"And microwave burritos in the freezer, sir," JARVIS replied, his tone on the verge of condescending. Steve nodded and Tony glanced down at Dum-E.

"I love you too, buddy," He whispered. Stroking Dum-E's head. He crossed the lab, sticking the drawing to the pin board.

"You coming Tony?" Steve called.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your tights in a bunch, Capcicle!" Tony shouted back. "JARVIS, archive a copy of those films for me, would you?"

"Captain Rogers has already made that request sir," the AI replied. Tony shook his head.

"Of course he has," Tony sighed, he looked at the drawing once more before turning and heading out the door after Steve.

* * *

Steve leaned on the doorframe of the lab, his hands shoved in his pockets. Tony was sitting, hunched over his workbench, one screwdriver behind his ear and another prodding carefully at the casing he was inspecting. He wore an irritated expression that Steve had come to know well, the kind he had when he was faced with a problem he couldn't solve so instead chose to address an unimportant problem he could.

"Tony?" he called for the third time. Tony's hand froze in mid motion and he looked up, blinking as if he had been asleep. His eyes coming into focus slowly.

"Oh, mornin' Cap," he turned his attention back to his project as Steve stifled a snicker.

"It's almost seven pm," Steve declared, leaning on the edge of the workbench. Tony froze again, his brow knitting in confusion. Steve could almost see his brain working through that bit of information.

"Well, that's awkward," Tony admitted finally.

"You haven't eaten today, have you?" Steve asked in amusement.

"Depends on how you define food," Tony shrugged, gripping his screwdriver between his teeth and pulling the one out from behind his ear.

"Um, I just wanted to say I was sorry for using your lab without your permission." Steve said uncomfortably.

"I don't care if you hang out in my lab, Cap," Tony mumbled around the screwdriver.

"It's... I just."

"We're going to actually do this?" Tony asked in bewilderment, pulling the screwdriver from his lips.

"If you want to," Steve offered, his face coloring slightly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Tony stated flatly.

"Because if you wanted," Steve's voice trailed off helplessly as Tony stared back at him with a frown.

"Do you want to?" Tony demanded, his gaze searching. Steve only stared back at him. "Son of a bitch." Tony declared finally in exasperation.

"Did you watch the tapes?" Steve asked softly.

"Some of them," Tony admitted with a shrug, turing back to his work. Steve shifted awkwardly back and forth for a moment.

"You should watch them all," he stated finally. He wasn't sure if he was giving permission or asking for something. He was fairly sure he didn't really need to do either. Tony would do exactly as he wanted.

"Let's just clear the air, ok?" Tony stated finally. "I don't care if you hang around in my lab and borrow my stuff and watch my TV, it's cool. I could keep you out of here if I wanted to, and I don't want to. I'm a little pissed off about the crayon marks on my counter." He shot a look at Yoo who was scrubbing at the kitchenette with the bot equivalent of a dejected expression.

"But that's not remotely the worst thing that's ever happened in here so I don't really have a problem there either," He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "So we're cool, right?" Steve nodded slowly and Tony gave a satisfied jerk of his head before resuming his tinkering. Steve watched in silence for a long moment, smiling ever so slightly.

"Look, Tony, I," He paused mid breath, his eye focusing on the inch wide metal disk Tony was painstakingly assembling. "Is that one of those control chips Ross used on us?"

"No!" Tony declared looking up in horror. He looked back down at his project before shuddering at the memory. "Hell no! I put this baby together from the ground up... I might have borrowed some ideas. Anyway, those tranks we keep shooting the Big Guy up with when he gets injured don't always work. And it's not like we actually need him unconscious, we just need to calm him down and dial back his pain response. With the right design modifications this thing could pretty much interrupt all the feedback signal between the brain and the central nervous system. One click and boom, no feeling at all. I figure STARK industries can make a bundle marketing it for medical applications." Steve stared at him open mouthed for a long moment.

"Situations where traditional anesthetic isn't an option," Steve supplied, his voice only slightly unsteady.

"Exactly!" Tony nodded cheerfully, pretending obliviousness at Steve's touched expression.

"Tony, I..."

"Don't," Tony interrupted with a scowl, shaking his screwdriver at Steve. "I know what you're thinking so just stop thinking it." Steve drew in a shaky breath.

"Howard," he began.

"Nope," Tony insisted, hunching himself over the workbench as if trying to make himself disappear.

"He would have been proud of you," Steve insisted vehemently. "He _was_ proud of you. He should have told you. I'm sorry he didn't." Tony swallowed, not looking up.

"Yeah, me too." he said finally.

"I wish he hadn't wasted so much time," Steve began.

"Stop right there," Tony demanded, his expression stern. "You don't get to say that. You never get to say that. Those were some of the best memories I had with my old man, looking for you, building new tools for the search. He taught me everything I know, and he taught me while we were looking for you so don't you ever say that. Because if he'd have stopped, if I hadn't had that with him, neither one of us would be here right now. The _only_ thing I wish is that he'd found you himself." Steve nodded, rubbing the moisture from the corners of his eyes.

"Are we done?" Tony demanded uncomfortably. Steve considered the question a moment. There was so much more that he'd wanted to say, but maybe it didn't really need saying anyway.

"Yeah," he nodded finally. Tony relaxed a fraction, scowling at his latest invention.

"Make yourself useful and hand me the soldering iron," he ordered. Steve complied with a soft smile.

"Phil and Bruce are grilling steaks," Steve declared presently. Tony swore under his breath.

"Dragging me out of the lab with the promise of charred red meat?" Tony gave him an incredulous look. "That is low, Rogers."

"I've been known to play dirty," Steve acknowledged with his most charming smile. Tony sighed, shaking his head.

"Close it up for the day, JARVIS," He said finally, amusement in his tone. "I have dinner plans."

"Very good, sir," the AI answered as Tony stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. Steve clapped him on the shoulder, steering him toward the door.

"You ok, Cap?" Tony half mumbled. Steve balked, a slow smile curling his lips. He let his arm drape around Tony's shoulder and the other man shied away, feigning disgust.

"Never better," Steve declared with a grin. And, he thought to himself, he really never had been.

* * *

**exposure** |ikˈspōZHər|

_noun_

1. the revelation of an identity or fact, esp. one that is concealed or likely to arouse disapproval.

2. the action of exposing a photographic film to light or other radiation.

* * *

**Note:**

Kodachrome was the first successfully marketed color film, developed by researchers at Eastman-Kodak and first commercially available for motion picture cameras in 1935 and still photography in 1936. Its complex three color developing system made it expensive to process and it's rich hues and vibrant texture made it highly prized by professionals and amateurs alike. Because of it's high cost to develop most photographers selected each shot carefully and even throw away film footage was kept. It remained the high water mark of still photography for three quarters of a century until the emergence of digital formats. Production of all forms of Kodachrome film was suspended in 2009. The final roll was developed in the worlds last remaining Kodachrome processing lab in Parsons, Kansas in January 2011.


End file.
